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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29987367">it's 5 o'clock somewhere</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobotomycastiel/pseuds/lobotomycastiel'>lobotomycastiel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domesticity, F/M, Fluff, M/M, double dates, outsider pov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:08:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>824</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29987367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobotomycastiel/pseuds/lobotomycastiel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“C-dog! You got our booth ready?” says Fuckface McGee, wearing his stupid-ass flannel-denim combo and looking way too perky for 5pm on a Tuesday.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>284</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's 5 o'clock somewhere</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>inspired by my own tumblr post, "fic written from the POV of dean, cas, sam, and eileen’s waitress at applebees". is that conceited of me? maybe.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carla hates being a waitress at this goddamn restaurant. The customers range from rude to straight-up gross, the pay is shitty, and she comes home smelling like a vat of canola oil. Her manager is an asshole, her coworkers are all idiots, and if she has to hear one more Jimmy Buffet song, she’ll die on the spot. She didn’t know it was possible to despise a musician that much, but she does. </p><p> </p><p>However, there’s one thing about her job that she hates more than the rest of it. </p><p> </p><p>“C-dog! You got our booth ready?” says Fuckface McGee, wearing his stupid-ass flannel-denim combo and looking way too perky for 5pm on a Tuesday. Him and all three of his buddies: the tall asshole, the hot lady with the killer alcohol tolerance, and the tax lawyer with the bedhead. </p><p> </p><p>She suppresses her urge to roll her eyes, pitches her voice a half-octave higher, plasters on a smile, and says “Yep! Right this way, Mr. Winchester!” </p><p> </p><p>“Aww, c’mon Carls, we’ve been comin’ to this joint for how many years now? You gotta call me Dean! I promise Cas won’t get mad, will you, sweetheart?” He turns to his husband, Tax Lawyer, who must also be sick of this song-and-dance routine after two years, because he rolls his eyes and goes back to chatting with Hot Lady, switching between ASL and speaking. Fuckface McGee doesn’t look phased at all, he just takes a seat at their corner booth like he owns it. “He loves me, he’s just bad at showing it. Get us a round of mozzarella sticks and our usuals to start?”</p><p> </p><p>Because she’ll get yelled at by her manager if she doesn’t say so, Carla replies with, “We’re also doing endless cheesy potato skins this month. They come with bacon bits and sour cream.” </p><p> </p><p>Fuckface McGee has the audacity to sit there and look <em> contemplative</em>. She hates this man so much. “Eileen, if I get those, you’ll have some right? Sammy, I know <em> you’ll </em> have some, you’re a terrible vegan.” </p><p> </p><p>Tall Asshole elbows Fuckface McGee in the ribs, and Hot Lady says, “Sure, why not, let’s be bad this week!” so it seems like they’ve decided to be adventurous. Great. She looks over at Tax Accountant, who’s busy on his phone doing… something… so she decides that she’ll just come back after her rounds and ask if he wants anything. </p><p> </p><p>“Alright, so that’s an order of cheesy potato skins, two frozen margaritas, a light beer, and a diet coke to start?” Always the same. Always the same. Every Tuesday, she’s trapped in her own personal Hell. She should check if she’s been transported to </p><p> </p><p>“You know me so well, Carly, I think we’re perfect for each other.” Fuckface McGee bats his eyes at her, and it’s all she can do to not punch him in the face. “Cas, I’m sorry, but I’m leaving you for… hey, is that Claire you’re texting? Tell her and Jack that I said hi and that she better not be burning the house down.” He gets absorbed in Tax Accountant’s conversation, and she leaves to go grab them their drinks. </p><p> </p><p>By the time she comes back, they’re all laughing about something, and this is the part of her Tuesday that she always hates, because if they’re laughing, she’s about to hear something that’ll scar her for life. </p><p> </p><p>“--and <em> then </em> Cas just stabbed them! All eight demons, dead!” Fuckface McGee looks at Tax Accountant like he wants to bend the guy over the jukebox and ravish him. </p><p> </p><p>“Dean, control yourself, we’re in public,” Tax accountant says, giving Fuckface McGee a kiss on the cheek. It’d be sweet if the four of them weren’t all so insane and annoying. </p><p> </p><p>Hot Lady puts up a hand. “I’ve got all of you beat though, did I tell you about the twenty vamps Sam and I got this month? The room was so tiny, their heads were knocking into each other like pool balls.” Another round of laughter. </p><p> </p><p>“Here you go! Diet coke for you,” she slides the glass in front of Fuckface McGee, “Light beer for you,” that goes to Tall Asshole, “and frozen margaritas for you two,” she hands Tax Accountant and Hot Lady their margaritas. “You guys let me know if you need anything!” That’s a lie, she’s getting Ryan and Kyle to cover for her, because fuck this table and whatever morbid D&amp;D game their talking about (she <em> hopes </em> it’s a D&amp;D game… but sometimes their conversation gets insanely graphic… but also monsters aren’t real… but… nevermind. If she thinks about it too long, she’ll end up as crazy as these four). But she doesn’t have to let them know that. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re the best, Carla! And Sam, that’s <em> nothing</em>, don’t you remember the time…” she walks away before she can overhear anything else. </p><p> </p><p>Over the speakers, another Jimmy Buffet song starts up. She needs to quit her goddamn job. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>comments and kudos always appreciated, come chat with me at <a href="https://lobotomycastiel.tumblr.com"> lobotomycastiel </a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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